Time To Burn
by laced-with-fire
Summary: A series of murders, a message and danger for Sherlock and John.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Right, my first Sherlock fanfic, based on the BBC series, but with influences from the original stories too. Unfortunately I don't own Sherlock or anything to do with it, this is just for fun. Hope you like and please review, I like to know how I'm doing.**

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><p>Well it was murder; the idiots in the police force were right about that at least. Sherlock crouched next to the body of the young girl, his grey eyes taking in every detail. All around, the rain fell, washing the streets of London clean and spilling from the roof of the open sided forensics tent in waterfalls. Sherlock heard the rain but paid it no heed as he examined the girls' hands, frowning slightly.<p>

John Watson watched his friend as he studied the dead girl. This was one of the first cases he'd taken since they had faced Moriarty at the pool. They had escaped narrowly, surviving only because John had leapt up and jumped into the pool, dragging Sherlock with him. By the time Lestrade had found them and pulled them from the wreckage of the building Moriarty had vanished.

Sherlock hadn't spoken for a week after the pool showdown, he had withdrawn into himself, and John could only assume he was going over everything that had happened. It was a relief to finally see him active again.

"What do you think?" Sherlock's voice jolted John from his thoughts and he moved to crouch down next to the body, Sherlock did not look up as John carefully examined the girl.

"Stab wound just above the clavicle, looks like the sub clavian artery was pierced." John looked around the alley, spotting the unmistakable pattern on one of the walls of the alley way. "Judging by the arterial spray on the wall she was over there when she was stabbed." John pointed to a spot some twenty feet away.

Lestrade stood watching the consulting detective and the Doctor as they crouched over the body. It was hard to hear what they were saying over the pounding of the rain and he was getting impatient.

"What have you got then?" He gazed back steadily as Sherlock looked up, slight annoyance fleetingly crossing his face at being interrupted.

The consulting detective rose to his feet, unfolding himself with an almost feline grace.

"The victim is in her mid twenties; she lives alone and has no regular contact with any family members. She's out on the hunt for a man judging by her alarming lack of clothing and the club entry stamps on her hands. Grazes on her hands and knees, recent, she smells of alcohol so most likely a drunken stumble. Her lip stick is worn and slightly smudged and there's a bruise on her neck so she found what she was hunting for. There are blonde hairs caught on the bricks on the wall. After leaving the club she came here and proceeded to get intimate with her killer before he killed her then arranged her body like this, deliberately posing it."

"How can you tell she's been posed?" Lestrade looked at the dead girl; she was sprawled on her front, her arms flung above her head and her hands touching. If she had collapsed mid- stride while trying to run away it seemed like a perfectly logical position to be in. He looked up at the younger man, inwardly sighing when he saw the look of contempt in the silvery grey eyes.

"Her hands; look at her hands." He gestured towards the girl's hands. "It's natural for the fingers to curl, but the thumb always sits over the top or underneath them. The tips of both her thumbs are touching the tips of her index fingers and the tips of her fingers on one hand are resting against their counterparts on the other. It's a conscious action, not something that would happen as she fell." He turned and began to walk away, pulling the plastic gloves from his hands as he did so.

"Is that it?" Lestrade called after the younger man. Sherlock turned, his long coat billowing behind him.

"The way her hands were left is a message. I need to find out what it means and who it was intended for; it obviously wasn't family so it must be for someone else." He turned once again, striding out of the alley way. John looked apologetically at Lestrade before hurrying after him.

John caught up with Sherlock just as his friend reached the main road. Sherlock raised an arm, proving once again his ability to seemingly hail a taxi from anywhere. They climbed in and gave their address. John looked over at his friend; Sherlock gazed out of the window, his pale face reflected in the glass.

"Questions?" His tone had a hint of amusement in it.

"How do you know she doesn't have family?" John saw the corner of Sherlock's mouth turn up in a smile.

"Her phone and her purse were very forthcoming. She has eleven numbers in her phone, not exactly a vast directory, and not one of them labelled 'mum', 'dad' or 'home'. There's a picture in her purse of a child, the child's features and the date on the back tell me that it's her at age six. There are two adults in the photo, one either side of her but the heads have been torn off; logic says that they're her parents, they can't have died or they would still be in the picture, so angry parting and no further contact." He stopped, and a smile crossed his features when he saw the impressed look on John's face.

They passed the rest of the journey in silence, although John almost fancied that he could hear Sherlock's mind working. It was only a few minutes more before the taxi pulled up outside 221b Baker Street. Sherlock handed the driver some money and hopped out onto the pavement, pulling his keys from his pocket as he hurried to the door.

John shook his head at his friend's enthusiasm as he followed Sherlock into the building and closed the door, the sound of the stairs being leapt up two at a time sounding through the house.

When he got up to the flat, Sherlock had already attached his phone to his laptop and was printing the pictures he had taken at the crime scene. John sat in one of the chairs as Sherlock almost pulled the pictures from the printer and moved across the room to hang them above the fireplace before settling in his chair his chin resting on his long fingers as he studied the images.

"What do you see, John?"

"Stab wound to the sub clavian, the killer knew what he was doing. I'm guessing that he intended to kill her when he went with her into the alley."

Sherlock nodded and gazed at the images. His phone began to ring, the sound emanating from his pocket but he ignored it, remaining still. John sighed as the phone continued to ring and reached over, pulling it out of Sherlock's jacket and putting it into the other mans' hand. Sherlock sighed and answered the phone, his gaze still on the pictures.

"What?" John watched as a smile spread over Sherlock's face. "Give me twenty minutes." He put the phone down and leapt up, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair.

"What is it?"

"There's been another one. Are you coming?" Sherlock grinned as John rose from the chair and followed him from the room.

They arrived at the crime scene in twenty minutes, just as Sherlock had promised. John saw Sergeant Sally Donovan watching with her arms folded as they crossed the police line and made their way over to Lestrade.

"Another one, Sherlock; exactly the same." The Detective Inspector rubbed a hand across his eyes.

"No, not exactly." Sherlock stepped forwards, crouching next to the dead girl. "Her hands have been placed differently." He pulled out his phone, quickly taking pictures while Lestrade looked on.

They watched as Sherlock looked at the body, one finger traced down the girls' arm and his eyes closed briefly, John was sure that it was almost sorrow that had crossed his face.

"What have you got, Sherlock?" It took a moment longer than usual for Sherlock to respond to Lestrade's question.

"She's in her late twenties, a prostitute, selling herself for drug money. She wasn't killed for her earnings; they're still tucked down her top. Killed in the same manner as the last one and posed too. Although this time the hands are different; her left hand facing palm up, fingers outstretched, her right hand palm down, the index finger on her right hand touching the little finger on her left."

"So what does all this mean?" Lestrade raised an eyebrow at the younger man.

"Both victims are nobodies, girls who are not going to be missed or cared about. The killings aren't robberies; both girls still had their money on them. No, these are messages and it's all in the positions of their hands."

It was well past midnight when they got home. John sank into the chair but Sherlock paced for a while before sitting down. John watched and rolled his eyes as his friend took off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeve, pulling at the nicotine patch on his fore arm. As the patch came away John could just about make out the tiny scars along Sherlock's arm.

"Ask your question." Sherlock did not look up as he placed a new patch on his arm.

"Those scars..." John didn't quite want to say it.

"Yes." Sherlock's reply was slow and deliberate.

"Track marks?" John felt a kind of sadness as Sherlock nodded, confirming what he had suspected after the false drugs raid on the flat. "What was it?"

"Mostly cocaine." The answer was short, the grey eyes, normally so certain were downcast.

"You injected it? Don't people normally..." John trailed off.

"I never liked inhaling it, it's messy and I prefer to be in control of the dose."

"So that was the hesitation at the crime scene, with the girl." John watched as Sherlock drew a deep breath before answering.

"Although I never had to go to such lengths to obtain drugs I saw plenty of people who did. It was a harsh reminder." Sherlock sat for a moment, seeming vulnerable.

"Well, whatever you did, it's still fine. It's all fine." John's voice was gentle, the grey eyes flicked up, meeting his gaze, he could swear he saw relief in them.

"Thank you." Sherlock's voice had an uncommon note of humanity in it before he seemed to shake himself and straighten up, shedding his previously vulnerable air.

"So what do we do now?" John asked the question, eager to move things on.

"We go and see someone who might know what's happening. Ugh, I'm not looking forward to that."

"Why? Because you have to ask for help?" John allowed himself a slight smirk.

"No because I have to ask for help from _her."_

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><p><strong>Hope you liked it.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, thank you to those of you who have added this to your watch list. As usual I do not own Sherlock Holmes or anything to do with him, the character of Ella however is mine (yes I know she has the same name that the therapist in A Study In Pink is credited with, however, I named her that before I realised) Anyway, hope you like and reviews of any kind, except flames are appreciated.**

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><p>The next day they headed out, the only words that Sherlock uttered were to tell the driver of the cab that they wanted to go to Hyde Park. He had refused to tell John anything about the person that they were going to see and after a while John had given up asking.<p>

He followed Sherlock into the park, surprised when his friend simply sat down on a bench, long legs stretched out in front of him. John sat beside him, tried to fathom what they were doing there and failed.

"If you want to explain any time soon then feel free." There was an underlying annoyance in his voice that even Sherlock Holmes couldn't fail to notice.

"We have to wait, exceedingly dull but it's how she works." He sank into silence and John watched as people passed by, runners, cyclists, dog walkers, business people, although less of those than normal, it was, after all a Saturday.

Minutes passed and John leapt back as a huge dog bounded up to them, catching him by surprise. The thing was a giant, with creamy coloured fur on its body and black fur on its face forming a mask. It looked a bit like a husky, but it was too chunky, its fur was too thick and its tail curled up. It looked up at them with great brown eyes, its tongue lolling from its mouth. John eyed it warily, unsure of the strange dog. He was surprised when Sherlock reached out a hand, smiling as he scratched the great beast behind the ears, one of his hands running through the thick fur of its neck.

"Kira." A girls' voice sounded and John looked up as someone approached them. "Sorry about that, she likes to say hello to people." She smiled; an easy, friendly smile and reached out, placing a hand on the dog's head.

"That's quite alright." Sherlock smiled back at the girl, his gaze fixed on her as she clicked her fingers, summoning the dog to her and turning away, the animal trotting neatly at her side.

Sherlock's face dropped into its normal impassive expression as the girl walked away and he settled himself back onto the bench.

"I didn't know you like dogs."

"Dogs are alright, they don't try to think so they're far less annoying than most people."

"I'm not sure if that was a dog or a bear though."

"Kira is an Akita, American variety to be precise; you don't see the black mask on the face in the Japanese breeds. One of the more intelligent types of dogs, they get bored easily."

"Like you then." John watched as Sherlock's expression shifted slightly while he tried to work out if John had just likened him to a dog. After a moment he seemed to decide that it had been an observation about his high level of intelligence and seemed content.

"Come on, let's go." Sherlock got up and John followed.

"Where are we going now, I thought we had to wait."

"We have what we need; we're going to see her."

"Wait a minute, how have we got what we need? The only thing that happened just now was that we got slobbered on by a thing that isn't sure if it wants to be a dog or a bear." John knew he had just demonstrated his total lack of observance compared to his friend when Sherlock sighed in a manner that suggested he was exasperated.

"How do people miss so much? The dog, John, the dog. Kira is the message, or rather she carries it." He pulled something from his coat pocket and thrust it into John's hand. John looked at it; in his hand was an ordinary looking key.

"What is it? And don't say a key."

"It was tucked under Kira's collar; it gets us into where we're going."

"So the dog, that just runs up to people is the one carrying the important message? That sounds stupid" John was incredulous, but Sherlock shook his head, a smile on his face.

"No, it's brilliant, that dog is under perfect control, she only goes where she's told to go and is trained to follow hand signals, not words. When she bounds up to someone it's because she's supposed to, everyone else thinks it's a momentarily loss of control and only ever notices the dog."

"Surely they notice her as well."

"Did you?" John could feel the consulting detective's gaze on him as he tried to think about what the girl looked like. He could remember baggy jeans and a hoody, dark hair but that was it, nothing else really remarkable and all he could really remember was the dog.

"No, not really."

"And that's her brilliance; she knows that everyone is always so busy looking at Kira that no one ever notices her, especially when she's dressed like that. Typical student look, students everywhere, no one looks twice at one more." He threw his arm out and a taxi appeared almost instantly.

The taxi stopped and John pushed some money into the cabbie's hand before following Sherlock out onto the street. John paused for a moment, looking at the building they were approaching; it was an old building, pre-dating the Baker Street address, although this house had also been converted into flats.

John watched as Sherlock pulled the key from his pocket and quickly opened the door.

"So she gave you a key to her flat?"

"This weeks key. She has the locks changed every week."

"Paranoid?"

"Secure."

"Expensive." John countered the taller man.

"She owns all of the flats in this house; money isn't a problem for her." John raised his eyebrows and followed Sherlock as his friend made his way up the stairs.

They entered what appeared to be the living room. The floor was wood, oak panels by the look of it. Two sofas and a chair sat around a low coffee table in the centre of the room. There was a fireplace across the room, logs crackled as a fire blazed in the hearth. John jumped slightly as a movement next to the fire caught his eye. The dog from the park sat on the rug, watching the two men with liquid eyes. Her great, black nose twitched in their direction and she barked once, a deep chested booming. Sherlock froze, his silvery eyes fixed on Kira, gleaming as he recognised the element of danger. John followed suit, thinking it wise not to anger what he estimated to be almost fifty kilos of dog.

"Well if it isn't my favourite consulting detective." Although the tone was more confident; John thought he recognised the voice of the girl from the park. She stepped out of a doorway on the far side of the room and John blinked in surprise.

Gone were the baggy jeans and hoody and the unremarkable girl from the park. In their place was a confident woman, not what he would call pretty, but striking. Dark hair fell in loose curls past her waist, contrasting with skin so pale that it rivalled Sherlock's. She wore dark fitted jeans and a fitted cream top with a dark brown shrug top. Her boots were knee length suede, dark brown with a three inch wedge heel. She stood leaning in the doorway one arm resting above her head, her expression suggested that she knew something that they didn't; it was one that John had seen many times on Sherlock's face.

"I am the _only_ consulting detective, Ella."

"And that also makes you my least favourite."

"You're insufferable." Sherlock scowled as he realised she had set him up for that line.

"Oh, I think I just heard the pot call the kettle black."

She smiled, her lips slightly parted, Sherlock smiled too and John realised that exchanges like this must be habit for them. Her gaze shifted towards John and back to Sherlock, asking the silent question.

"This is my friend, Dr. John Watson." Ella nodded a greeting at John, seeming unsurprised at the introduction. Her gaze flicked back to Sherlock.

"So?"

"I need some information." Sherlock's smile had vanished.

"You wouldn't be here if you didn't." Ella stepped fully into the room and Kira trotted over to her, tail wagging. The girl fondled the large head that came up to her hip and looked over at Sherlock, fixing him with piercing green eyes. "About the murdered girls I presume."

"Wait, how do you know that?" John could not help but ask.

"It's the only game going on at the moment interesting enough for Sherlock."

"A game? Two girls are dead." John could not help but wonder if this girl was as detached as Sherlock. Ella clicked her fingers and Kira padded over to the fire, settling down once more. When she spoke her voice was quiet.

"Everything is someone's game, Dr. Watson."

"Do you know anything about it?" A note of impatience could be heard in Sherlock's voice.

"Of course." Her tone suggested that her not knowing would be ridiculous.

"Tell me."

"The price is the same as always, Sherlock." A slow smile spread across Ella's features. John watched as Sherlock scowled and turned away fidgeting as he started to pace.

"How much?" John stepped forwards, wondering what the cost was and if they would be able to afford it. But Ella shook her head and smiled.

"It isn't something you can give. Sherlock has to pay like he always does." John looked back, slightly confused. "Sherlock doesn't pay me in money, Dr. Watson, that's not how I work. Everybody pays in something they value."

"If you don't charge money..." John's eyes flicked around the room.

"Oh there are plenty of people who do value money."

"This is why I hate coming to you for information." Sherlock paced up and down like a caged leopard, his eyes flashing like molten silver.

"And yet you still do. You're not the only one who gets bored you know. I have to amuse myself somehow. But if you don't want the information..." She tossed her long hair from her face and turned slowly, almost lazily and began to walk away, her hips swaying gently.

John leapt back as Sherlock pushed past him, his coat billowing behind him. He watched in surprise as Sherlock grasped Ella's arm, roughly spinning her round to face him. One gloved hand moved up, resting on Ella's neck and his thumb traced her jaw line. He smiled as he looked down at her, grey eyes burning into green.

"Same as always?" His voice was low.

"Same as always."

John's mouth dropped open as Sherlock leant down and kissed Ella, pulling the girl close to him as she returned his kiss. One of her hands moved up to entwine in his hair, the pale skin of her hand contrasting with his dark curls and his arm encircled her slim waist.

John shifted uncomfortably, wondering just what this 'price' entailed.

After a short while they broke the kiss but did not break apart, they stayed close together, lips almost touching, Sherlock's breathing had changed, his shoulders moving visibly with each breath.

"You're getting more passionate, Sherlock." Ella's voice was low, Sherlock smiled.

"More angry." His tone was half amused despite his words.

Ella kept her hand on Sherlock's neck and rested her cheek against his, her lips close to his ear. When she spoke her voice was a soft honey like whisper.

"They are one and the same, my dear." She released him and he closed his eyes briefly, gathering himself before he spoke again.

"What information do you have?" He glanced at John briefly, refusing to meet his eyes.

Ella walked to one of the sofas and sat down, leaning forward to open the laptop that sat on the table. Sherlock moved to stand behind her, leaning on the back of the sofa so that he could see the screen.

"Your killings were contracted, both carried out by the same person. He specialises in so called message killings." Ella glanced up as she spoke.

"Well I've already figured that out." Sherlock sounded bored.

"Do you have pictures?" Ella let out a small sigh, her only reaction to his tone.

Sherlock pulled out his phone and placed it in Ella's outstretched hand. She flicked through the pictures and John saw her looking carefully at the ones of the victims' hands.

"Well?"

"Well there's going to be more killings." She handed the phone back.

"How do you know?"

"Because the letters B-U don't mean much on their own."

"Letters? What letters?" Sherlock flicked through the photos on his phone, his pale face troubled at the thought he might have missed something. After a moment he stopped and his mouth opened in realisation. "Oh, genius absolute genius. How could I have missed this?" He spun around, running his hand through his hair. Ella watched him, an amused look on her face.

"Any time you care to explain for the non genius." John stepped forwards and Sherlock spun to face him, looking positively overjoyed.

"Their hands, John, their hands. Each girl was posed forming a letter of the alphabet with her hands in British Sign Language."

"Which Sherlock has neglected to use since he learned it and therefore misplaced it in that magnificent brain of his." Ella swung her legs up onto the sofa and sat smirking.

Sherlock turned to her and made a few gestures that John recognised as sign language although he didn't know what they meant. He got the idea though from the expression on his friend's face and the way that Ella raised her eyebrows.

"Now, Sherlock, that wasn't very polite, was it."

"What else can you tell me?"

"There are two more kills planned to take place in quick succession; he'll be done by tomorrow night."

"How do you know that?"

"Because if you know where to look there are places where contract killers look for work and some of them put up what I like to call previous employment, I've also hacked the email accounts of several contract killers. Your killer has put up these two murders, and when I asked him if he was available for a job because I liked the look of his work he had the idiocy to be flattered." She paused then appeared to think of something else. "Oh and I also have a phone number for him which I've been tracking since early this morning." This last piece of information seemed almost to be an afterthought.

"He gave you his number?" Sherlock was incredulous.

"He may be good at killing, but he's really not that bright. Currently he's hanging around in Camden Town, near the market, looking for his next victim I'm guessing."

"Thank you, Ella." Sherlock turned towards the door and paused before turning back. "If he moves..."

"I'll let you know." She smiled as Sherlock nodded in gratitude and turned once more, his footsteps on the stairs clearly audible.

John hesitated for a moment before turning to Ella.

"So that's the price he pays?" Ella looked at him, her green gaze intense.

"I'm presuming you want to know why."

"That's why I'm asking."

"If you really want to know I will explain, but at the moment I don't think Sherlock is going to hang around that long and my reasons are not ones he will ever find out so now is not a good time." John nodded, understanding that he would get nothing further from her.

"I should probably catch up with him."

"Good idea."

As John left the room Ella sat watching the door, a thoughtful look in her eyes. After a moment she smiled to herself and turned her attention back to the screen in front of her and the location of the killer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Well here's the next chapter, thank you to those that added this story to their alert lists, special thank you to ThePhoenix'sSong for the reviews. As usual I don't own Sherlock or anything to do with it, Ella however is mine.**

**Hope you like and reviews much appreciated.**

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><p>The cab sped towards Camden and John glanced at Sherlock for what seemed like the fiftieth time in ten minutes. Sherlock had not moved; he just sat staring out of the window.<p>

"What?" Sherlock sounded almost irritated.

"What happened in there?" John knew this maybe wasn't the best time to be asking but he wanted to know.

"We went to Ella and obtained valuable information."

"Well the price of information has changed." John was relieved to see a brief smile on Sherlock's face.

"It's her way of not being bored; I wish it was that easy." The cab stopped and they climbed out, Sherlock pulling his coat around him.

"I thought you said that wasn't your area." Another smile as he remembered one of the first conversations they had ever had.

"I said girlfriends weren't my area, I never said I led a celibate life."

"So you do...interact with girls then."

"A time for everything when the need arises." He smirked and left the remark hanging in the air as he strode towards the bridge and leant against the wall, his back to the silent canal.

John leant beside him, trying not to think about the mischievous glint he had just seen in the dancing grey eyes. As they stood on the bridge John contemplated that they were waiting for a man who killed innocent girls for money. He thought of his gun, hidden under the loose floorboard in his room where he had put it when Sherlock had started to look bored.

As they waited, Sherlock mused in his own thoughts. He thought about Ella and his most recent encounter with her. While he had a certain admiration for the girl, he hated going to her for information. Not just because of the price he paid but because she confused him. He couldn't read her like he could everybody else, her reactions weren't what he thought they should be; she hadn't batted an eyelid when he had introduced John as his friend, it just hadn't bothered her. Plus she always seemed to be able to get the better of him, setting traps with words that he frequently walked into.

What he hated most about her was that she was right; he was, painful as it was to admit it, getting more passionate with her. It wasn't as though he was interested in her; she was no more than a business acquaintance, a source of information when required; and besides he couldn't be bothered with things like that. The worst thing was that he didn't know why but he was certain that she did.

They had been waiting about half an hour when Sherlock's gaze focused intently on two people walking down the street. John looked at them; a man about five foot ten was heading away from the clubs towards the quiet street at the end of the closed market. The girl was giggling and stumbling, obviously the worse for wear due to one substance or another. The man laughed with her, his hand on her hip guiding her down one of the side streets.

"Is that him?" John's voice was quiet.

"Yes, the knife is up the sleeve of his coat, easily accessible and he's not drunk, just pretending."

They walked briskly down the street, staying out of sight of the pair as the man guided the stumbling girl into the courtyard where during the day time the markets would be set up, however at this time of night there were plenty of hidden spaces. By the time they entered the courtyard the man and the girl had vanished.

"Where are they?" John looked around, searching for any sign of them.

"Shh." Sherlock stood perfectly still, his eyes darting as his keen ears picked up the sounds of the night around him.

They started to run when they heard her scream.

Together they ran through the market square into the shadows on the far side. The man they had seen with the girl was crouching over her, rearranging her hands. He looked up when he saw them and ran, Sherlock hot on his heels.

John hurried over to the girl; she lay on her front, her hands above her head, posed just like the last two. He felt for a pulse, fingers desperately searching for any sign of life. The lack of anything and the slowly spreading pool of blood on the cobble stones told him all he needed to know. A shout from the shadows down near the bank of the canal caught John's attention; he recognised the voice as Sherlock's and a tone that could only mean trouble.

When John reached the canal bank for a moment he could see nothing, but he could hear what sounded very much like a struggle going on further down the tow path.

What John saw made him wish once again that he had brought his gun.

Sherlock had caught up with the man who, although shorter than him easily outweighed and out muscled him. As he ran towards them, John saw Sherlock land a punch to the man's nose causing the man to bellow in pain. John's stomach lurched when he saw the man grasp Sherlock and drive a knee into his ribs twice in quick succession, causing his friend to grunt in pain and fall to his knees, one arm moving protectively across his side.

The man moved and John stopped short when he saw the man's hand entwined in Sherlock's dark curls and the knife glinting at the pale skin of his friend's throat.

"One move and he joins the girl." John felt helpless as he looked into his friend's eyes, he thought he saw fear, but he wasn't sure. Sherlock had frozen when he felt the cold metal at his throat, the only movement his harsh breathing.

Both doctor and detective were taken by surprise when the man looked down at Sherlock's face and cursed under his breath before shoving him forward and running back down the path away from them.

John ran forward, skidding to a halt next to where Sherlock had sprawled on the cobbles and crouching down in front of him.

"Sherlock!" He grasped his friend's shoulders and pulled him back up to his knees, dreading what he might see.

"I'm alright, John." Sherlock's breathing was still harsh and his face had gone paler than usual. John stood, pulling Sherlock to his feet, concerned when he noticed the hint of pain that flashed for just a split second across the pale face.

"You sure you're O.K?"

"Fine. We need to call Lestrade." He looked relieved as John pulled out his phone, quickly scrolling through his contacts until he came to Lestrade's number. After a moment the phone was clearly answered and Sherlock strode back down the canal path and into the market square.

When he got there he was relieved to find that no one had yet found the body of the girl, she lay where the killer had left her. He crouched down, wincing slightly as he did so and looked at the body taking in every detail.

She had been killed in the same way as the others. He checked her handbag, another one who lived alone with no family. Sherlock turned to her hands, unable to prevent himself smiling when he saw that they too had been arranged. This time her left hand lay palm up, the index finger of her right hand lay in her open palm, flat on one side and curled slightly.

"The letter R." Sherlock spoke quietly to himself. He turned when he heard footsteps and saw John jogging towards him.

"Lestrade's on his way. He said to wait for him."

"Dull, I've already got what I need." John rolled his eyes at his impetuous friend.

"Well wait anyway then you can tell him what you've found." John knew he'd played the right card when Sherlock smirked at the thought of letting the police know how stupid they were.

"All right, I'll wait." He rose to his feet and winced in pain. He could tell without looking that John had seen him wince and was grateful that for the moment the Doctor did not seem to be about to pursue the matter.

They had only been waiting a few moments when they heard the sirens. Lestrade came running through the market square, stopping when he saw Sherlock and John standing near the body of the girl. He shouted some orders at the other officers and moved to one side, jerking his head to indicate that the consulting detective and the doctor should follow him.

"What happened? Actually scrap that, what the hell were you doing here?" He kept his voice low as the other officers began cordoning off the area.

"We heard a rumour and didn't want to waste valuable police time so we had a look." The sarcasm was evident in Sherlock's voice.

"A rumour? From where?" Lestrade's gaze was fixed on the young man in front of him.

"I have my sources."

"Sherlock. Don't. Play. Games. With. Me." The innocent look on the consulting detective's face as though to say 'who me' was infuriating.

"As I said, I have my sources. This one told me that the killer might strike here tonight and that there's going to be one more killing." Lestrade sighed, realising that although at times he could throttle the man, he needed Sherlock. Therefore he had better trust him.

"You trust this source?"

"Impeccably."

"Alright, I know you've already had a look. What can you tell me?"

"Another drunk girl; lives alone again so not going to be missed in a hurry. Also posed. The hands of this one and the other girls were posed to form letters of the BSL alphabet. She's the third of four letters."

"What are the letters?"

"B-U-R"

"Well that could be anything." Lestrade looked at the younger man, noting the withering look on his face.

"Ten words in the English language that have four letters and begin with those three."

"What; are you a walking dictionary now too?"

"No but I have read it." John saw Lestrade open his mouth to comment on this but think better of it. He supposed to himself that this was probably not something that should surprise him about his flatmate.

At this moment in time Sherlock's phone beeped and he pulled it out, his eyes widening slightly as he looked at the text message. John could see the name on the screen; Ella.

"There's going to be another one."

"Yeah you mentioned that..."

"No." Sherlock looked frustrated. "Another one tonight, in Regents Park." He turned and began to move back towards the road.

"How do you know?"

"Sources." The word was shouted back over his shoulder.

"Oh for goodness sake." Lestrade turned to John. "Catch him, we're going in my car, we'll get there faster." He turned away, hurrying back to the crime scene and shouting orders.

John hurried after Sherlock, catching his friend just as he reached the road.

"Sherlock wait, we're going in Lestrade's car." He sighed at the look of disdain on the other man's face. "Don't look like that, we'll get there faster."

"Only if he hurries himself." The reply was short tempered.

"Patience is a virtue, Sherlock." Lestrade hurried up behind them, pulling keys from his pocket.

"And virtues are overrated." Sherlock smirked as Lestrade shook his head and got into the car.

They sped towards Regents Park, the sirens blaring and the lights flashing. It only took them a few minutes to reach the closest entrance to the park, and they squealed to a halt. Sherlock had leapt out of the car almost before it stopped and stood, looking around desperately for any sign of where the killer might be. Lestrade and John ran up beside him hoping that he knew where they were going.

"Which way?" Lestrade's voice was anxious.

"I don't know."

"Perhaps we should split up, cover more ground." The other two looked at John as he spoke then both nodded, taking his suggestion without question.

Lestrade walked carefully through the park, all his senses alert. He knew this man was dangerous, he had murdered three girls that they knew of, not to mention that Watson had told him that he had bested Sherlock and could have killed him if he had wanted to. Not for the first time, Lestrade marvelled at the fact that Sherlock was still alive.

He had not gone far when he found the girl.

"Sherlock." It did not take long for the consulting detective to appear, moving swiftly through the dark on long legs. Dr. Watson appeared only a few seconds later.

The three men stood over the body of the girl; unlike the others she was well dressed. Sherlock crouched down beside her, registering every detail.

"Not like the others, he was in a hurry this time." His voice was quiet and the others had to strain to hear. Although it was clear to them that he was talking more to himself than to them they still tried to catch what he was saying.

John heard a faint rustle from the trees a few meters away and glanced up, eyes flicking back and forth as he searched the shadows for the source of the sound. After a moment his brow wrinkled as he spotted a movement in the darkness.

John leapt forwards as he saw a shape break from the shadows and make off into the park, he vaguely heard Lestrade shout as he bolted after the fleeing figure. The man was fast and on an ordinary day might have out run John, but anger over four innocent girls leant the doctor speed and he began to gain on the figure in front of him.

They had just reached the exit to the park when John gained the last few meters, he could see the man in front of him clearly and there was no mistaking the face that glanced back at him. The man had just put a foot on the pavement when John leapt forwards, tackling him and sending them both sprawling to the hard ground. John felt his head strike the pavement and his vision swam.

Sherlock and Lestrade ran through the park, they had seen John run after the shadowy figure and had set off in pursuit after them. Sherlock felt his stomach twist in fear as he saw John hit the pavement and ran for all he was worth when he saw the killer get to his feet.

Although Lestrade was running as fast as he could, he was no match for Sherlock. He saw the lean figure of the young man collide with the shorter figure of the killer who was standing over the prone form of Dr. Watson.

Sherlock felt the breath leave his body as he collided with the killer; the man was like a brick wall. They stumbled across the pavement and Sherlock struggled to keep his footing, he could feel the grip of the other man on his arms; fingers digging into his flesh, the nails pinching his skin through his coat. He drove his knee into the man, hearing the pained grunt as it connected and feeling a slight satisfaction at inflicting the same injuries that had been inflicted on him. Sherlock saw the knife in the man's hand and moved on instinct as the blade came towards him. He felt the impact as the man crashed into him once more and heard a strangled cry.

The man staggered back clutching at his stomach and in the glow of the street lamp Sherlock saw dark blood on his hands. The consulting detective leapt forwards, catching the man as he fell and pressing his hands to the wound in an attempt to slow the bleeding.

"Who hired you?" Sherlock heard Lestrade and John approach but paid them no heed, all his attention on the man in front of him. "Tell me!"

The man let out a choking laugh that turned into a cry of pain. Sherlock could see him slipping away. He pressed his hand harder on the wound, making the man squirm.

"Tell me who hired you. You don't have long left but I swear I will make your last moments hell if you don't tell me." Sherlock's face had gone hard, his eyes like ice. John had never seen him this cold before and just about managed to stop himself taking a step back.

The man gave another harsh, gurgling laugh.

"Not...meant...to...tell..."

"Tell me!" Sherlock sounded angry and a hint of desperation had entered his voice, he knew he was running out of time.

With a last gurgle the man's eyes rolled back in his head and Sherlock cursed as he felt the frantic pulse beneath his fingers shudder and stop.

"Shit." Sherlock heard Lestrade curse as the Detective Inspector moved to stand beside him, John following behind.

Lestrade looked at the dead man, and then at Sherlock, his hands covered in blood. Quickly he started to formulate a plan in his mind about how he would keep the consulting detective and himself out of trouble this time.

"You two need to get out of here."

"Not before I've checked her hands." Sherlock scrambled to his feet and ran back towards the girl. He shone his torch on her hands, noting their position; the first two fingers of her right hand placed flat in the palm of her left hand.

The letter N.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: A thousand apologies to any one who read the last chapter 4 I put up and thought it didn't make sense, you're right it didn't but that is because I put up the wrong chapter. Apologies again and I hope this makes more sense.**

**Disclaimer: I have no ownership of Sherlock Holmes**

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><p>In the cluttered living room of 221b Baker Street Sherlock paced back and forth, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. John sat in the arm chair looking at the pictures that had been stuck on the wall. The photos of the girls' hands were put up in a row, the letters that each sign stood for written in the corner of the picture.<p>

_Burn_

John thought about the word and the possible message. It was clearly a threat, but a strange one considering the girls had all been stabbed. Fire or any other method of burning had had nothing to do with this case so far. He pondered it further, thinking of what had happened over the last few days. Suddenly a voice echoed in John's mind, a voice that he would never forget.

"_...I will burn the heart out of you..."_

"Oh my God."

"What?" Sherlock stopped his pacing and turned; his concern for his friend evident.

"It's him, this case, it's Moriarty." John saw Sherlock flinch at the name.

"What makes you think that?"

"None of the girls are connected, it's a strange case, the police were bound to call you and the message is what he threatened to do."

"Yes that's true, a case designed to get my attention."

"But he doesn't want to kill you."

"You sound very sure about that." Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"If he wanted you dead you wouldn't be standing here right now. That monster he hired to kill the girls had your life in his hands earlier, he could have killed you easily, but he let you go when he saw your face. But I'm guessing you're off limits."

Sherlock had resumed his pacing again, his grey eyes troubled as he thought their conversation through. Someone knocked at the door and John sighed as he rose from the chair and moved across the room to answer it.

Ella sat on her sofa, one hand running over the thick fur on Kira's back as the dog sat beside her. Green eyes gazed at the laptop in front of her as she flicked through the hacked email accounts, searching for anything of importance to the current game. Something in particular caught her attention and she looked at it, reading the email carefully.

"Shit" Ella almost threw the laptop away from her and leapt from the sofa, scrambling to pull her shoes on. Finally she grasped her coat and ran out of the door, Kira following at her heels.

On the discarded laptop there was a picture of Sherlock and Dr. Watson.

John had barely got the door open when four men burst in, guns in their hands. He did not have time to move before two guns were levelled at his head. He saw Sherlock freeze as the other two men approached him, their guns pointed at him. John knew that had they only been threatening Sherlock then his friend would have done something reckless, it was only the gun pointed in his direction that stopped Sherlock.

The men grasped Sherlock's arms and he didn't resist as they pulled him to the centre of the room. The other men grasped John and one of them kept a gun levelled at him while he other moved round to stand in front of him. John was well aware of the guns aimed at himself and his friend, his breath came in strange shudders as he fought to control his fear and he could feel adrenaline coursing through his system.

The man standing in front of John smirked and looked at Sherlock before he spoke.

"Now, Mr. Holmes, whether Dr. Watson has a chance of living is up to you. If you behave yourself during what comes next he might live." The man's voice took on a threatening tone. "But if you look away or try to fight then my friend here pulls the trigger and Dr. Watson dies instantly." He turned to John. "The same goes for you, Dr. Watson. We're not supposed to kill Holmes unless we have to, but if you struggle, we will put a bullet in that clever head of his." A satisfied grin formed on his face when he saw Sherlock's grey eyes fixed on John, perfect understanding of the situation mixed with hatred and anger in the swirling silver depths.

The man turned back to face John, pulling a knife from under his coat as he did so. The blade was five inches long, razor sharp and serrated on one edge. It glinted wickedly in his hand as he moved forwards.

Sherlock forced himself to watch as something that could only be described as his own personal nightmare unfolded before him.

The man advanced on John, completely confident that he held both men in his power.

The next sounds in the flat were John's cries of pain as the man drove the knife into his body.

To Sherlock it seemed like hours although he knew it could only have been moments. The man released John and Sherlock watched as his friend crumpled to the floor. The men holding the consulting detective released him and Sherlock vaguely felt a vicious kick hit his ribs as they left, the door slamming behind them.

He scrabbled across the floor, kneeling beside his friend's still form. There was blood everywhere, so much blood and Sherlock's hands were soon red to the wrist as he tried to staunch the wounds. Somehow he managed to pull out his phone and dial 999. After a hurried conversation he put the phone down on the girl at the other end and sat watching John, desperately hoping that his friend would survive.

For the first time in a long time, Sherlock Holmes began to panic.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey, right, next chapter, thank you so much to those who have added this story to your alerts and favourites. However, a couple of reviews would be greatly appreciated, what do you like, what can be improved? Let me know so I can improve.**

**Disclaimer: Neither the original stories or the BBC production of Sherlock Holmes belongs to me. The character of Ella however does.**

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><p>The street was bathed in flashes of blue from the lights of the police cars. The ambulance had driven off, sirens screaming as it took John to St. Bartholomew's. Sherlock sat on the step of 221b, knees drawn up to his chest, his grey eyes focused on nothing. Police walked past him as they went in and out of the house but he didn't seem to notice them.<p>

Lestrade looked around as a car pulled up at the end of Baker Street. When he saw who got out he sighed and walked towards the police tape.

Ella stood on the other side, hands in the pockets of her dark green, knee length wool coat. Lestrade sighed again when he saw that her monster of a dog stood motionless next to her.

"Ella." His greeting held no warmth.

"Lestrade." The girl held his gaze steadily.

"Don't tell me you knew about this."

"I found out something was going to happen, but I didn't know what and I couldn't get through to warn them."

"They were attacked, Dr. Watson is seriously injured."

"And Sherlock?" Ella's gaze flicked to the huddled figure on the steps.

"We found him covered in blood, we think it's Watson's but he won't let us near him and he won't say a word. I'm trying to work out what's happened but all we have so far is their landlady telling us that four men came into the flat and locked her in a cupboard." Lestrade's exasperation at not knowing was clear in his tone.

"They made him watch." Ella's voice was quiet.

"What?" Lestrade looked at the girl in disbelief.

"This was a deliberate hit on Sherlock." She turned her gaze back to the DI, fixing him with those green eyes that always unsettled him slightly.

"But he wasn't hurt." Lestrade knew he'd missed something when she sighed.

"They don't want him hurt, they want him broken."

"Broken?" Again a sigh in response.

"Sherlock has a very powerful enemy who is intent on bringing him down. I've seen this type of attack before. Sherlock was forced to watch while they almost killed the only person that he really considers a friend."

"So what do we do with him now?" Lestrade turned to look at the consulting detective; it looked as though someone had sucked all of the brash arrogance out of him, leaving a hollow shell.

"Let me take him out of here."

"What? No! He's the only witness we've got."

"Lestrade look at him. In his present state he's no good to you or anyone. He needs to be functioning."

"But..."

"Look, at the moment John Watson's life has a very steep price. If he dies, Sherlock breaks and if he breaks, chances are he will start hunting down everyone involved and heaven help anyone who gets in his way. But if you want to be the one to clear up that mess and stop him then by all means be my guest." Ella had drawn herself up to her full height and although she was a head shorter than Lestrade he had to admit that she was still formidable. And she had a point.

"Alright, what do you want to do?"

"He can't stay here; let me take him with me. I'll get him sorted out and get his mind working again."

"I'll need a statement from him."

"Give me a couple of days and you'll get your statement."

"Fine."

"Kira, go." Ella signalled to the dog and Lestrade watched as the beast trotted under the tape and made her way towards the huddled figure of Sherlock. Someone made a move to grasp Kira's collar but Lestrade shouted, stopping them. He didn't know why Ella had sent Kira in but he knew that she must have a good reason for it.

Although he didn't completely trust Ella in the same way he didn't completely trust Sherlock, the girl had proved useful in the past. The other officers viewed her in much the same way, another annoying freak who knew things she shouldn't and had no business with police work. But Lestrade had to admit that there had been times when he had needed Ella. She had connections and sources everywhere and her information, occasionally joined with Sherlock's deductions had helped more than a few cases.

His question as to the role of the dog was answered when Kira approached Sherlock and nuzzled him; pushing her cold, black nose into his hand.

Lestrade and Ella looked on as Sherlock reached out his hand, and Ella saw blood on his hand as his fingers ran through the thick fur on Kira's head. The great dog moved around to sit next to him, pressing herself against his body. Sherlock responded and moved his arm, wrapping it around the dog.

Only once he had done this did Ella move; ducking under the tape and walking slowly towards Sherlock. She had only gone a few paces when Lestrade called out to her.

"Ella." The girl half turned, looking back at Lestrade, her eyes questioning. "Look after him." Her nodded response was all he needed to know that she would do her best.

Ella walked slowly towards the step of 221b Baker Street, ignoring the frosty looks that Anderson and Donovan sent her way. She stopped a couple of feet away from Sherlock and crouched down. Sherlock did not look at her, but kept his attention focused on Kira.

"Sherlock?" Ella's voice was quiet and her tone gentle. She was relieved when the grey eyes flickered briefly in her direction. "Sherlock we need to get out of here; Lestrade has said you can leave with me if you want to."

"John..." The single, choked word was filled with raw emotion, something Ella guessed very few people had heard from Sherlock Holmes. He flinched, his arm wrapping tighter around Kira as Lestrade stepped past them into the house.

"John is on his way to the hospital where they will do everything they can. There's nothing you can do for him now. But come with me and we can do the next best thing." After a moment Sherlock nodded and slowly rose to his feet, clutching the blanket around him.

They had just turned to go when Lestrade re-appeared, a bag in his hand and Sherlock's coat over his arm.

"Clothes for him." He spoke quietly to Ella. "You'll need them." She nodded and took the bag and coat.

They turned and walked towards the police tape, Kira padding along beside Sherlock, his hand resting on her head. Ella met the stares of Anderson and Donovan as they walked past. Donovan opened her mouth to say something but Ella shook her head in a silent warning. Lestrade was surprised when the Sergeant took the warning and remained silent. He remained watching as they got into Ella's car and drove away.

When they got to Ella's house, Sherlock still hadn't said a word. Ella did not try and talk to him, she knew it was pointless. Instead she allowed him to remain focused on Kira. Gently she guided him into flat and straight into the bathroom, judging that getting him cleaned up would be a good starting point.

He stood silent as she took the blanket from him and shock flickered across Ella's features when she saw what the blanket had covered. There was blood everywhere, his hands were red to the wrist, his clothes covered in the stuff. Ella thought it was a miracle that Watson was alive at all if the amount of blood on Sherlock was anything to go by.

Sherlock made no move so Ella reached out, and with slow, careful movements unbuttoned his shirt and gently slipped it from his body. The blood had soaked through his clothes and the pale skin of his body was red and sticky with drying blood. He did not resist as she wet a cloth and began to gently cleanse the blood from his body.

As she ran the cloth over his ribs he flinched and Ella looked up in concern. Carefully she cleaned away the blood and examined the raw skin and dark bruising over his ribs where the killer had struck him earlier.

"You haven't let anyone look at that yet have you?" He shook his head and she put the cloth down, reaching down to pick up the bag of clothes. "Here, get changed, I'll look at that when you're done."

She turned and left the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Ella picked up her laptop from where she had dropped it earlier and began to search for anything that would help her find the men who had attacked John and Sherlock. After a moment Kira sat up, a low growl sounding as she did.

Ella looked up as the door opened and sighed when she saw who had entered.

"You know it's funny; I don't remember giving you a key this week, Mycroft." She gazed steadily at Sherlock's brother as he stood near the door, the ever present umbrella swinging from his hand.

Mycroft's mouth turned up slightly in what, at a stretch could be described as a smile.

"There are ways of entering without keys, Ella."

"I believe the term is breaking and entering." Ella picked up the laptop and placed it on the table as she rose to her feet. Kira stood beside her, hackles raised and low growls emitting from her throat. Ella glanced down at the dog and snapped her fingers before making a quick hand signal.

Kira trotted out into the hallway and a moment later her fierce barks rang through the house. They heard a man's cries coupled with Kira's growls and a moment later the giant dog backed into the room, her teeth firmly clamped around the wrist of a man in an electrician's uniform. Ella walked to the door and looked out into the hallway, when she saw what lay on the floor she sighed and walked back into the room. When she turned back to Mycroft her arms were folded and one eyebrow was arched.

"Surveillance equipment? Really Mycroft." She turned her gaze to the man still held in Kira's grasp, when she spoke there was a low, dangerous tone to her voice. "You are going to go back outside; then you are going to remove anything that you have already installed. If you have not left this house in five minutes I will let the dog loose and you will be taking parts of your anatomy home in your toolbox. Now get out." Kira released her grip on the man's' wrist and with a hurried glance at Mycroft he backed out of the room. Ella waited until she could hear him hurriedly packing his things before she turned back to Mycroft.

"What do you want?"

"I believe you have my brother here."

"Yes, and?" Mycroft sighed at this; the girl was blunt at best and insolent the rest of the time.

"I would like to talk to him."

"He's getting washed and changed, I expect he'll be out in a minute, if you want to talk to him you'll have to wait."

"You know, Ella, considering that I fund a large part of your lifestyle a little more respect would not go amiss."

"You only fund it because the information I get for you is worth far more than the price of my lifestyle." Once again Mycroft sighed, the girl was right but he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of hearing him admit it.

"I am still waiting to talk to Sherlock."

"And you'll continue to wait until he's ready."

"I expect you believe you're looking after him by bringing him here."

"You're not the only one who looks out for him you know."

"You call this looking out for him?" Mycroft's tone was condescending and Ella's eyes flashed in anger.

"I call this helping him without annoying him, which is far more than you seem to be able to manage." Her chin rose defiantly as Mycroft stepped forwards

"Your impertinence is becoming tiresome, Ella. I advise you to be careful and not antagonise me; there may be consequences."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Not at all, but it would be such a shame if someone were to report that your dog had bitten them." He allowed himself some satisfaction at seeing the girl waver; he knew that the dog was the most important thing in the world to her.

"You wouldn't." Ella's steady gaze faltered and she lost her defiant air.

"Oh wouldn't I?" Mycroft stepped closer to the girl until he was inches away from her. "It would do you well to remember that I could bring you crashing down, it would only take a phone call."

Mycroft turned as the door to the bathroom opened and Sherlock stepped into the room, clean of blood and in fresh clothes. His grey eyes flicked between his brother and Ella, taking in Ella's shallow, almost panicked breaths, her downcast gaze and her uncertain demeanour.

"Sherlock." The half smile was back again as Mycroft faced his younger brother. Sherlock looked past him at Ella and her eyes flickered up, meeting his for just a moment.

"Are you alright?" Ella nodded in response, her gaze still uncertain. Sherlock moved to stand beside her before turning angrily to his brother. "Have you threatened her?"

"Perhaps a little to make her more amiable."

"It's not in her nature to be amiable, Mycroft, don't try and force her to be." Sherlock's eyes flashed like silver. "Why are you here?"

"I heard about what happened and tracked you down to this...place. I was going to ask if you needed any help."

"Taking care of and keeping prisoner you mean." Sherlock spat.

"Well I don't like to put it quite so bluntly."

"You don't need to."

"Well if you believe that Ella can give you all the care you need..."

"She can." Sherlock's short answer and set eyes left no more room for argument, even from Mycroft. After a moment, the elder Holmes turned to Ella.

"How do you propose to help my brother, Ella?"

"Is it really any of your business, Mycroft?" Sherlock glared at his brother.

"If you won't let me help you then I would at least like to know what is being done." Mycroft's normally calm tone slipped slightly, a hint of impatience showing through.

"Fair enough." Ella stepped forwards, putting herself into Mycroft's line of vision. "Four men attacked Sherlock and John; I know how to find them."

"And when you find them?" At his question, Ella raised her head, green eyes holding Mycroft's gaze.

"When we find them there will be four less knives for hire on the streets of London." Mycroft looked into those unsettling green eyes for a moment more, considering what she had said. After a while he sighed and nodded.

"And how do you propose to do that?"

"I'll find a way but if you still want to help then you can." Ella ignored the almost venomous look that Sherlock sent her.

Mycroft sighed again; although he did not like the idea of Sherlock sticking with Ella, he realised the removing the men who had hurt Dr. Watson would most likely restore his brother to a better state of mind. If he could help and possibly keep Sherlock out of trouble then he would. Despite what many people thought, Mycroft Holmes did care about his brother.

"What do you need?"

"Guns; unregistered, un-test fired and untraceable. And if four bodies turn up tonight then make sure the investigations are basic at best."

"Fine; it will take at least two hours to secure the guns, I'll have them sent to you by private courier." He looked at his watch, it read 23:15. "You should have them by half past one tomorrow morning."

"Thank you." Ella's gaze had softened.

Mycroft nodded, throwing one last glance towards his brother and meeting his cold gaze for just a moment before turning and leaving.

When he had gone, Ella drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly before turning to Sherlock, her eyes kind. "Right, let's see to your ribs." Much to her surprise, Sherlock sat on the arm of the closest sofa and unbuttoned his shirt. Ella pulled a well stocked first aid kit from a shelf and set it on the table. Carefully she began to clean the raw skin on his ribs, she noticed him flinch once and then he was silent. She had already made the decision to remain quiet and let him speak first; all that remained now was to wait for him to talk.

Sherlock sat still as Ella saw to his injuries; in his minds' eye he saw again the living room of Baker Street, the floor covered in John's blood. He shuddered slightly, the anger at his brother that had maintained his composure fading. After a moment he gathered himself together enough to speak.

"What do we do now?" He sounded so lost and unsure that Ella paused for a moment, her eyes flickering up to his face. After a moment she continued, looking back down as she worked. When she spoke her voice was calm and steady, her tone matter of fact.

"Well, we have a couple of hours before the guns arrive." She straightened and gathered up the first aid kit, fingers moving deftly as she fitted everything back into the box. "In that time I can find at least one of them." She turned to throw away the used cotton wool. "When we find him he can lead us to the others." She paused a moment, drawing in a slow breath as she turned back to face Sherlock. He sat as she had left him, his shirt still unbuttoned. Slowly she moved towards him and reached out, gently closing his shirt, as she began to button it she spoke again. "In the meanwhile however, you should get some rest."

"No." At Sherlock's reply Ella's eyes flickered up and she stood straight. "No, I can't...I need...I need to..." He trailed off and looked away, his expression almost fearful.

"Sherlock, you've been up for God knows how long, you're injured and you have witnessed something terrible. You are exhausted both mentally and physically so all you need to do right now is to rest." She paused and chewed her bottom lip for a moment, considering the thought that had just come to her. "If you need something to help you sleep then I can give you something." Sherlock looked up at her, his eyes like those of a cornered animal.

"Not..." Sherlock could hardly believe what he had just heard and he hoped that she didn't mean what he thought she meant. Yes she knew about his past drug use, knew he still had some around the house, but she had always made it known that she disapproved of it and he knew she had her reasons.

"No not that. Just a mild sedative to help you relax, it won't knock you out, just calm you down."

Sherlock thought for a moment; it did make sense that he should rest, if he stayed in this state then he would be completely useless when it came to hunting down the monsters that had attacked John. Ella was also correct in her thinking that he would be unable to relax his mind enough to get any sort of rest. After a moment longer he nodded.

Ella said nothing; instead she reached for the first aid kit and pulled out a small bottle and a syringe. Sherlock watched as Ella drew a measure of the drug into the syringe; when he saw how much she had drawn, he raised an eyebrow. Ella saw and gave a brief smile.

"It may look like a lot and with anyone else it would knock them out, but what with your natural resistance and the extra resistance born of use it will only calm you down." She waited until he nodded before reaching out and taking his wrist. Gently she turned his arm, exposing the pale skin of his forearm. Sherlock looked away as she wiped an alcohol pad across his skin and Ella noticed his eyes close briefly as she carefully pushed the needle into his arm and pressed the plunger.

It took only a moment for Sherlock to begin feeling the effects of the sedative and he allowed Ella to guide him so that he was lying on the sofa rather than sitting on the arm of it. He felt Ella place a blanket over him and was vaguely aware of Kira settling herself on the floor next to him. Moments later he drifted off, the drug and his exhaustion sending him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Ella gently smoothed a stray curl of hair from his face, her expression tender. Once she was sure he had settled she moved to sit once more on the other sofa and picked up her laptop. As she searched for the men who had attacked Sherlock and John, Ella began to form a plan to hunt them down.


End file.
